Poem #4: Sleep

Sleep

Placed in a deep sleep.
From fall
to fashioning.
you were made out of my ribs.
Dust and dirt,
one in flesh.
“Oh my god!” she cries.

You are of my flesh
you were made out of my ribs,
dust and dirt.

When did this separation occur?
A serpent so stunning
took you from me
and blame and shame erupted
as leaves tried to cover
my mistake.
“Oh my god?” she questions.

Now opened up,
united.
Longing for
a soul sharing intimacy
beyond this heavy breathing
and empty groans.
Transcending the touch,
“Oh my god” she sighs.

Made out of my ribs
you took a part of me.
Searching for this Eden
I don’t know where you are
but when you find me
I shall be your Eve.